“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
descended cautiously into the region consecrated to the second class. Ashurst peeked through an open port, while Mrs. Trevelyan glanced into the saloon through another close by. From within came the strum of a banjo and the lilt of rag-time.
“Ah ’l lend yo’ ma hat!
Ah ’l lend yo’ ma flat!
Ah ’l lend yo’ ma lovely overcoat of fur!
Ah ’l lend yo’ eberyting Ah ’ve got—exceptin’ ma wife!
An’ Ah ’I mak’ yo’ a present of her!”
Ah ’l lend yo’ ma flat!
Ah ’l lend yo’ ma lovely overcoat of fur!
Ah ’l lend yo’ eberyting Ah ’ve got—exceptin’ ma wife!
An’ Ah ’I mak’ yo’ a present of her!”
Mrs. Trevelyan’s eyes swept along the motley rows of maids, valets, and their heterogeneous companions, all eagerly drinking in the piquant sentiment of the lyric, until catching a profile at the end of one of them, an expression of hopeless bewilderment slowly gathered upon her face. Cloud was sitting a little apart, his chin on his hand, a forced smile about his lips.
“It can’t be!” muttered Mrs. Trevelyan almost hysterically.
At the same instant the song ended, and a tumultuous round of hand-clapping and laughter showed that the audience was anything but unappreciative and that wives and matrimony49
